


It's a tale of perfect camaraderie and of co-dependence

by OnForeboding



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Animal handling, Fluff, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8097361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnForeboding/pseuds/OnForeboding
Summary: Flint wasn’t proud of ordering the kidnapping of a chicken but enough was enough.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellel/gifts).



> This is all [ellelan](http://ellelan.tumblr.com/)'s fault. Her wish is my command.
> 
> Fulfiling [a promise as well as a challenge.](https://parrotsinlondon.tumblr.com/post/150686562669/silverflint-prompt-fearsome-pirate-king-john) I give you [Monique. ](http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-36475672)
> 
> Lovely [art](http://krimsnkramsart.tumblr.com/post/151204116632/silver-monique-the-chicken-for) by [krimsnkrams.](http://krimsnkramsart.tumblr.com/) Go visit her and all her amazing multi-fandom art!

Flint wasn’t proud of ordering the kidnapping of a chicken but enough was enough.

The creature— _Monique_ —had been with Silver since he’d lied his way into the belly of the Walrus. Somehow, he’d managed to strike up a friendship with one of the chickens stocked for the trip. On a ship full of men that, at the time, either despised or suspected him, Flint could see how a chicken might’ve served as the unwilling and unfortunate target of Silver’s ruminations. Certainly more intelligent company than Randall. Flint could practically see it—Silver drudgingly peeling potatoes, all the while talking the bird’s ear off with his scheming and machinations. That chicken must know quite a deal more about Flint than most of the men on the crew. As Silver’s influence grew, so did the chicken’s boldness; roosting in the most astonishing places, strolling through the deck at the least convenient times, getting under the crew’s feet and startling them and, in turn, startling herself, and shitting absolutely everywhere.

Then, she even had the good fortune of not being present during their stint in the doldrums, because the dainty little thing had been, according to her doting master, sick, losing enough feathers to stuff a few pillows. So, much to Silver’s chagrin, he’d had to leave her in Nassau to “recuperate”. During their time becalmed Flint had had only three things on his mind: Miranda, Silver and fucking Monique. Slow roasted Monique. Boiled Monique. Monique pie. At that point, had Monique been on the ship, Flint would’ve eaten her raw just to spite Silver.

But now, now this bird nonsense had gone too far. One morning, Flint had found an egg on his bed. He’d “found it” by way of crushing it with his face, while turning over in his sleep. He’d been silent about the affair, of course. The last thing he needed was for Silver to enjoy the fact Monique was now terrorizing even him. But then, it had happened again. And again. And today was the fifth day in a row Flint had woken up to an egg somewhere on his bed.

Flint was a rational man. This was Silver’s doing, of course. He was the only one who would even dare to think of provoking Flint. (The advantages of being feared by one’s crew were, as far as Flint could tell, immeasurable and countless. Being… liked [by Silver] was proving to be far more troublesome.) What was he hoping to achieve? He hardly knew Flint as the joking sort of man. So Flint did what any rational man would do: he got Billy to discreetly snatch the damned thing and lock it in a cage. No chicken, no eggs, no game.

“I can’t find her anywhere… I think she might’ve gone overboard.”

Flint hummed noncommittally. Silver’s morose tone struck a guilty chord in his conscience, though. He hadn’t thought Silver would actually miss the blasted bird. Long John Silver, Nassau’s terror-in-the-night, ruthless killer of men, missed his chicken, Monique.

They were in the middle of one of Silver’s sea faring lessons, going over some charts.

Silver leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I’ve searched all of her favourite roosting spots and nothing. Sometimes she finds her way into the hold and has a bit of a grain binge but that was a dead-end too.”

“I’m fairly certain the lifespan of a chicken is not a long one. She may have simply died,” Flint suggested, eyes still fixed on the charts.

Silver remained silent long enough for Flint to have no other choice but to look at him. His eyes were narrowed.

“You wouldn’t,” Silver accused, leaning forward on his chair.

Flint got up and assumed his sternest stance. “I don’t take kindly to ridicule, Mr. Silver. Were I to admit any wrongdoing in this matter, it would be entirely on your head.”

Silver got up as well. “Pardon?”

“You know very well what I’m referring to. As your Captain I cannot tolerate any mockery, not even from you. It was also rather wasteful. Those eggs are quite essential to the crew’s diet.”

Silver frowned. “What are you on about?”

Flint sighed. Nonetheless, Silver did seem overly confused. “The eggs on my bed, Mr. Silver.”

Silver looked at the bed. He slowly turned his face back towards Flint, tilting his head to the right, in a dangerously familiar, beguiling fashion. There was a smirk spreading over his lips. Flint managed not to flinch.

“You think, I’ve been leaving chicken eggs on your bed?” Silver said, enunciating every word.

When Silver said it outloud it sounded a lot less reasonable. Flint swallowed. With Miranda gone, he was still unaccustomed to being made to feel foolish by anyone else. Especially Silver. It seemed to be happening more and more of late.

Silver stared him down with mirth in his eyes, before looking back toward the bed. Flint didn’t recognise the following sound immediately, not only because Silver was turned away but because it had been so long since he’d heard it last. Silver was laughing.

“She’s been laying eggs in your bed? But why— oh.” Silver turned back suddenly, making his hair swish. “What did you do to her?”

Flint extended a hand out. “I didn’t kill your damned chicken.” He walked to one of the cabin windows and opened it. He then pulled a rope up and grabbed the crab trap where Billy had temporarily installed the chicken. “I was just trying to teach you a lesson,” Flint said, balancing the trap in the window sill, Monique’s dazed eyes moving all over the place.

“Monique!” Silver hobbled as quickly as possible to Flint, wrenching the trap away from him.  He settled it on the ground and opened it, allowing Monique to stretch her legs about the cabin.

Silver squatted near her. The chicken came closer right away and lay still, while Silver petted over her brown wings, her head jutting out occasionally to peck Silver’s dangling curls.

Perfectly healthy.

“You’ve traumatized her!”

Flint grimaced. “It’s a chicken. Which, need I remind you, you’ve killed plenty of.”

Silver grabbed Monique, who offered no struggle at all (unlike when Flint tried to grab her) and stood up. “She’s _my_ chicken,” Silver spat out, holding Monique to his chest, like some priceless treasure.

Flint was done feeling sheepish about this whole affair. He straightened to all his height and stalked toward Silver. “Then keep her with the rest of _your_ shit,” he growled, pointing a finger at Silver’s face. “The next time I find anything that came out of that chicken in my cabin, I will make sure it’s the last.”

Silver stared him down. “Understood, Captain.” He threw the honorific at Flint like it was an insult and made his way out of the room.

Flint waited for the door to slam shut before sinking into his chair and slumping down on it. He huffed out a long suffering breath. All of this over a fucking chicken!

Over the next weeks, it was business as usual. Monique kept her reign over the ship, shuffling about wherever she pleased. Except, Flint’s cabin, of course. Faithful to his promise, Silver had kept her out. At least the absence of any more surprises led Flint to believe so. Simultaneously, Silver’s patently ridiculous cooing over the creature had increased. He shared his meals with her, feeding her pieces of broth soaked bread and biscuits. He’d even spotted Silver rocking himself in his hammock, while she rested on his chest, eyes closed in contentment, as Silver rubbed her wrinkled head. Flint couldn’t help the feeling that somehow this was meant to piss him off.

However, one day he’d found exactly what he’d revolted against in his cabin: something that came out of that chicken—namely, a basket with half a dozen eggs and a note.

_She only lays where she feels safe. I read to her in your bed. She likes it there because I like it there._

_Sorry._

Flint stared at the note, feeling heat rise up from his chest all the way to his cheeks. He realised all those times he’d thought he smelled Silver on his bed weren’t some fancy of the mind. He had been there.

Reading to that _fucking_ chicken.

Monique was starting to give England a run for her money as Flint’s nemesis.


End file.
